


The Loudest of Silences

by IntrovertedWriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brief exploration of love and sexuality, Dreams, Gender of narrator not specified, Love, More contemplative-based than plot-based, Multi, POV First Person, i think, is there a right way to love?, mentions of relationships of all kinds, nameless narrator - Freeform, twist on the idea of soulmate because the only person you're ever meant to know is yourself, what is love?, what you make of it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 17:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedWriter/pseuds/IntrovertedWriter
Summary: Sometimes we write stories, I feel, because they are the kind of stories we need at a given moment in time. Stories we wish existed or were told. This is one of those. It's a twist on the idea that soulmates are a thing. That you're fated to meet this one person and get to know them to their depths. Because I feel the only person you're truly ever meant to know is yourself. This is a story about that. It's a story about the quest for oneself through sexuality as an aspect of oneself. It's a story about confusion, about sexuality, about love, and the kind of questions that arise from that. I don't know how well I did if it's worth the read or even if it said what needed to be said. But it was what I needed to hear not too long ago. So read it or don't.





	The Loudest of Silences

There were mornings where I'd wake up, eyes rimmed with red and tear stains on my pillow. The dream that I had, I could never recall. But the sensation that I've lost something lingers for a while after I wake up. 

They say that perhaps our eyes need to be washed by our tears every once in a while so that we might see clearly again. But I have to say, that after plentiful of those tearful mornings, I can't see any clearer. I go about blindly, vision a blur, rummaging for that which I am missing, whatever it might be. For that something, for that place, for that someone that is lost to me. 

It is in these mornings that I feel penance in the dull ache that throbs in my chest. Penance for giving away too much of myself, of my heart, without knowing how or why. Only being sure that nothing can compensate its loss. 

I didn't know. I didn't know what I was looking for, or where to find it. I couldn't grasp it, it slipped with ease through my very fingers. 

It occurred to me that maybe this was simply a quest for something I'd rather not know. A quest for something I had buried so deep within myself I could no longer tell what it was, could not make its shape out. Could not tell you if it was a person, a thing, or a place. Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was none of them. 

They came to me then, amidst the uncertainty. The dreams. 

The first comes to me in a flash of color. With sea green eyes of a hue so vibrant, I go back to the summers we'd spend at the beach looking for sea glass. They stare back at me, these beautiful eyes, and I know that behind them lay secrets deeper and darker than the very ocean they resemble. But I also know that whatever they might be, however dark their depths, what lies in them feels right. It feels easy...Natural. Like the movement of waves and they rise and fall, only to crash and break on the shore. 

This feeling and the memory of the deep green stays with me long after I wake up, clinging desperately to me throughout the day. It feels as if I'm hanging by the edge of something...but I don't know what. 

Then I see him, another figure walking by the side of the road near my school. Like the dream, he is born of uncertainty. The boy with tanned skin and bronze hair. The boy of sea green eyes. I can't help but stare. For the briefest of moments, I think I see recognition in his eyes, but it soon fades away. Nevertheless, I greet him with a smile that tries to tell him all that my gaze cannot. 

It doesn’t take long to find out what the darkness in the depths of his eyes is. It’s a love of a dark nature, unlike anything I have ever known. One that sweeps me off my feet with one glance. 

Without knowing how, or when, or from where, he becomes my first love. 

This is a love so new, dark and uncertain that I fumble with it for a while, not knowing what to do with it. Not knowing if I was allowed to feel things like these. 

In the end, I decide that certain dark things such as these can only belong in one place. Can only remain intact to the sensibilities and judgments of others. Between the shadow and the soul, where no one but me knows where to look for it. 

I don’t know if this is the right way to love, but I’m too young, too afraid to know how to love him in any other way.

I don’t have to know this, however, to know how it will end. I will crash and burn, a penance for flying too close to the sun. 

To my surprise though, I find that I’d be happy to burn when he doesn’t scowl at me or take his hand back when the back of my hand brushes his. When he doesn’t tell me that this shouldn’t happen, that it’s not meant to be. That’s it’s unnatural, or that it’d change 

Instead, he lets things come as they do. He takes everything in stride and I wish I could just let myself be swept up in the ease of it all. I approach this as the afraid, cynical teen that I am, expecting the worst, but hoping for the best. 

He’s too idealistic. He’s ahead of me in every single way conceivable and I struggle to catch up but he just flashes one of his lopsided grins and drags me along for the ride without a single care in the world. 

That’s how I find myself lowering my guard, letting myself be swept up by his smiles, in the softness of his hands and the way they fit into mine like puzzle pieces. I let myself be swept off by the entirety of him, the entirety of the boy with green eyes, too pure for the world, too kind and idealistic to know better, to know that with the ease nothing can become something. It came come crashing down. 

I should’ve known better. 

I should have known in the moment that followed the moment our heads tilted and our lips finally came together in a short and awkward kiss. I should have known the moment I saw a shadow cross over his eyes. He was just another scared boy, too young and too afraid to know how to love. And if the way in which he did would ever be right. 

That is how my first love also turns into my first heartbreak. How he simply becomes somebody I used to know. 

I meet her in the aftermath of him. 

She too is born of dreams. It is after many sleepless and dreamless nights that I see her. Or rather, part of her. I don't stare into her eyes like I did him. Instead, she passes me by, onyx hair blowing in the breeze and brushing past me, the scent of argan being all she leaves behind. I can't make out the face of her shape but the scent lingers with me as I wake up, and for once, tears don't linger on my pillow. 

I don't think much of it until I see her at a party I'm dragged to. Unlike with him, our eyes do not meet silently and it's not quite the same. Not that I'd think it'd ever be, but I never imagined it'd be this different, either. 

But it is. From my feelings to their very beings. 

He was always a dreamer, an idealist who fought everything with a smile and refused to believe things could go wrong if you tried hard enough. She scoffed at such thinking. She was a realist, who knew that things could crash and burn without any apparent reason. She didn't fret, though but rather chose not to care. 

Life is too short, she said, if things go wrong, let them go wrong. Accept circumstances for what they are unless you can change them. 

It doesn't come as a surprise that she is more unapologetic and carefree. She is impulsive, one might say, throwing herself headfirst into things. Yet she is so confident and grounded in her decisions, I don't need for her to grasp my hand to be swept along whatever mischief she's causing. I gladly do so of my own volition. 

I'm too hung up on him to ever contemplate falling in love with her. But she has other plans. 

She does things at her own time, and so she falls in love with me before I ever fall in love with her. Her love is very much like her, free, unapologetic and confident.  
It's different with her. There's more straightforward conversations, and confident, strong kisses. 

There are no apologies. No shadows crossing over her features. There's no girl cowering, wondering if there's a right way to love. She doesn't care, as far as she's concerned there is no right way. 

That's what I'll remember about her, I decide. Beyond anything else, this is what it's about. What it has been all about, I realize. 

It has never been about finding someone, after all. 

There is no right way. 

There simply isn't a right way I can or cannot love a person. 

Maybe that's what it has been all about.

**Author's Note:**

> If you did manage to like, get through this, do let me know your thoughts! They are always welcome and needed. Even if this was a story that I needed to hear, I want to make sure that what needed to be said was said for those who also need it. If that even makes sense.


End file.
